


hold on to me tightly, I'm a sliding scale

by elanorelle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-19 03:44:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19967500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elanorelle/pseuds/elanorelle
Summary: In which Dean comes to better appreciate Sam's choice in haircare products. PWP.(Originally written and posted to LJ 01/11/2010.)





	hold on to me tightly, I'm a sliding scale

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for salt_burn_porn, prompt "shampoo and conditioner." Now uploaded to AO3 nearly 10 years later at the request of someone who apparently still remembers it fondly! I hope you enjoy reading it again, friend.
> 
> Title from Massive Attack.

To be honest, showering together isn't something they do a lot. Usually it's just impractical, neither of them being what you'd call small guys, particularly Sam, with his stupid giant body and octopus limbs: most of the time it's bad enough just trying to fit one of them in there.

But it's been a long day, and they're both covered in dirt and salt and fucking _ectoplasm_ , and no matter how many times Sam beat him at rock paper scissors to get the first shower, there's just no way Dean's going to sit around here and wait. Chances are he'll fall asleep first, and sleeping in his own filth isn't something Dean particularly enjoys.

So he strips off his clothes and dumps them unceremoniously on top of Sam's, and—ignoring Sam's squawk of displeasure—pushes the shower curtain aside and steps in behind his brother.

Sam's taking up most of the spray, not surprisingly, and so Dean shuffles closer, crowding Sam up towards the wall, in an effort to get some of the water—just this side of searing hot, the way it always is when Sam's involved—for himself.

"Dean, come on, man," Sam says plaintively. "Can't you wait, like, five minutes?"

Okay, the first thing wrong with that sentence is that Sam has never taken a five minute shower in his life, no matter what he says, but the bigger and more important part is that no, Dean can't wait, not even a little bit, and therefore Sam needs to stop being a whiny little bitch and just learn to fucking share.

" _I'm_ whiny?" Sam says, and huh, apparently Dean said all that out loud. Good to know. He doesn't seem to say anything else, though, and after a few seconds Sam sighs resignedly and says: "Come here, then," turning them awkwardly around so that Dean's the one standing fully underneath the spray.

And _god_ that's good. That's awesome. The hot water's hitting his back and neck just right and he has Sam, wet, naked and in his immediate proximity, and this is just … this is a really good moment in Dean Winchester's life, it has to be said. Even if he does still have grave dirt in his ears.

He can hear what must be Sam fiddling about with shampoo bottles, and then Sam's voice saying: "Tilt your head back, close your eyes."

He wants to protest, because chances are Sam's going to use some of that fruity shit he seems to like so much, and Dean has standards, thank you very much.

If he _wanted_ to smell like a fruit basket or a floral bouquet … well, Dean's never going to want to smell like either of those things, is the point, and the fact that his brother is apparently enough of a freaking _girl_ to think differently isn't going to change that fact.

But Dean's so tired that raising his own arms to do the job himself seems beyond impossible, and so he tilts his head back at Sam's request and lets him get on with it.

He's bracing himself for mangoes or kiwi or maybe something with lavender, who the fuck knows, but actually it's not nearly that bad. Minty, with kind of a kick to it, so that Dean's eyes water a little even though he has them squeezed shut.

"It's tea tree," Sam says. Dean doesn't actually remember asking, but okay, whatever.

Sam's fingers—long and clever and so very, very good at this—lather the shampoo into Dean's hair, rubbing at his scalp and even down to the back of Dean's neck; slow, soothing circles that make Dean feel as though his head might fall off at any second, that Sam's hands are the only thing keeping it from doing so.

Dean groans at how good it feels, which is better than the whimper he barely manages to suppress afterwards, but still, it's kind of embarrassing to be getting off this much on what basically equates to a scalp massage.

"You like that, huh?" Sam says, his voice a little rough, the timbre of it hitting Dean hard and making his dick sit up and take serious notice. At the small of his back, he can feel Sam's cock, hard and getting harder, so obviously he's not the only one who's interested.

He clears his throat and tries to sound nonchalant. "You're the one with a hard-on, dude," he says.

"You're the one moaning like a goddamn porn star," Sam retorts, and Dean can't really deny that one, so he doesn't even bother.

"Feels good," he says, instead, and lets himself lean back a little against Sam's chest. It means that his head comes to rest on Sam's shoulder, and the hands Sam had in his hair are dislodged. It's a fleeting inconvenience that lasts as long as it takes for one of Sam's lather-coated hands to make its way down Dean's chest to his dick.

Sam runs his fingers along the shaft and flicks his thumb over the head, and Dean shudders, wanting more. Sam obliges, starting to jack Dean off more firmly with one hand while the other trails down to touch his balls; at his back, Dean can feel Sam's dick rubbing up against him, sliding easily along wet skin.

It's so fucking good, but it's not … not quite what he wants, not quite _enough_ , and he doesn't want to come like this.

So he grabs at Sam's hand, pulls it away and says, "Wait," and then tries to twist around so that they're facing each other. It's slippery and awkward and almost involves a concussion for one or both of them, but it ends with Sam's cock up against Dean's, so Dean figures it was all worth it.

Sam kisses him, deep and slow and open-mouthed; he tastes like cool water but his mouth is hot and demanding and Dean can't get enough of it. He licks his way inside, slides his tongue alongside Sam's, relearning for the thousandth time the contours of his brother's mouth.

Eventually, it's too much, though, and they stop kissing when Sam grabs at Dean's ass, pulling him in to grind their cocks together, friction and the need to come getting the better of them both.

Dean wants to lift up his legs and wrap them round Sam's hips, wants to let Sam open him up and fuck him, but he's got just enough awareness left to know that anything like that will end badly, and so he just angles his hips upward and lets his dick drag against Sam's, feels arousal pool hot and heavy in his groin and waits for the wave to crest over him.

When he comes, it feels like a slow burn, crackling up his spine and spreading out through his body with a shiver he can't rein in. He clings to Sam, hands desperately clutching at his brother's hair, at the slippery wet skin of his back and feels the way Sam shudders and moans, the way his dick pulses and spurts only a few seconds after Dean's, spunk warm on Dean's belly for a brief moment before it gets washed away by the water still beating down on them from above.

" _God_ , Dean," Sam says, panting against Dean's mouth, his hand still flexing on Dean's ass.

Dean tries to say something in response, but all that comes out is a long, drawn-out sigh that sounds so pathetic he kind of wants to slap himself for it. Maybe later, once he's properly clean and dry and Sammy's given him a blow-job. Maybe then.

They stand there for a few minutes, the shower spray sputtering and starting to cool a little, not speaking until Dean finally gets his breath back and manages to ask: "Don't suppose you've got conditioner, too?"


End file.
